


Anything

by twowritehands



Series: Touching Gus [3]
Category: Psych
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first big fight as a couple</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything

Shawn sits in the passenger seat of the car in Gus’ driveway. His stomach weighs more than it should and it aches, a solid, blunt pain with a source originating from somewhere up in his rib cage, somewhere deep behind vital organs that Shawn doesn't remember the names of right now. The air is still ringing from where Gus slammed his car door, stormed into his house. He left the front door open. He expects Shawn to follow him in.

He expects Shawn to have an explanation for his behavior.

Shawn has two options:

Option number one is to follow Gus into the house, hear what Gus has to say, stand there and listen to the outrage and the hurt and have nothing to say for himself beyond, _she was flirting with me first, man. I didn't want to seem weird by ignoring her._

_You could have said you were spoken for, Shawn._

_But Lassie and Juliet were_ right _there!_

_So?_

Shawn knows this is how the argument is going to go. He feels it in his bones. It’s almost like he is living it in real time as he experiences the horrifying stillness that would be Gus waiting for the answer he wants to hear, an answer Shawn won’t have.

 _They can’t know about us_ , Shawn would say stupidly, for the hundredth time in as many days. (Three months of falling asleep with Jelly Mode rendering his limbs useless. Three months of Gus finding new and frankly blush-worthy ways to make Shawn laugh his ass off. Three months of never once sleeping alone. Three months of text messages with little <3 emoticons at the ends because Gus is such a dork. Three months of being happy one moment and scrambling to lie and pretend he’s single in the next. Having his cake and eating it, too.)

 _Why can’t they know_? Gus would ask. Like he always does.

Again there would be that empty silence in the place of Shawn’s answer, the sound of Shawn letting Gus down. Closing his eyes now, Shawn can too easily imagine the look on Gus’ face as it finally occurs to him that he’s asking too much. That if he needs more, he’ll do better to look for it somewhere else.

It’s excruciating, the thought of Gus telling him to go, and then Gus not being here in the morning when Shawn returns. A sign in the yard declaring rent space available…

Shawn’s fingers are jittery on his jean-clad thighs. It’s beginning to feel stuffy in the car with the California sun beating down on him, the air conditioner off, the windows rolled up. Yet still he doesn't go anywhere. Option number two is what keeps him in the car.

He can just slide behind the wheel and go somewhere else. Let Gus cool down. Surely with a night away from him to think about it, Gus would realize he’s blowing one little indiscretion of mindless flirting way out of proportion. Surely Gus would realize that he would much rather they continue in secret than not at all… Shawn is leaning more towards this easier, less terrifying way of dealing with this new and alarming development in their Thing, because he doesn't know how to handle what’s about to happen.

This is his first big fight with his Gus (that’s how Shawn thinks of Gus ever since the Big Thing that started this: simultaneously as just _Gus_ and just _his_ with no established label on the situation).

In three months they haven’t actually had a fight yet. Sure there have been mild spats over silly things as they learned how to live in each other’s extremely private spaces… but it was never anything big. Nothing that ever set Shawn to feeling this way. Shaky like he’s up on a ledge. Like he’s the Grinch trying to hold that sleigh filled with all the wonderful Who presents as it slips over the edge of Mt. Crumpet to ruin Who Christmas forever.

He and Gus hardly ever fought as friends. And if they did, it was over almost as quickly as it came. Brief flashes of rage wiped clean with a shout, the throw of a fist, ugly words they never meant…

But what will it be like now that they… now that Gus has… (Now that Shawn has shown Gus how to take him apart with a whisper while trusting that he’ll put him back together again…)

Shawn knows that if he goes in there, the fight will be On like Donkey Kong, and he knows that the coward in him will go and let it fall apart rather than bend to what Gus needs—to be publicly acknowledged. (The very idea of coming Out at the precinct, coming Out for Dad and Mom and then Gus’ parent’s and then Juliet and eventually even someday Abby… and then every person he’ll ever meet for the rest of his life… just feels like a bad joke that he’ll never be able to live down.)

During the car ride here from the scene of The Incident, they’d exchanged a few brief, snappish words and Gus had taken no pains to hide the fact that he plans to force Shawn into facing what he’s afraid of or whatever. Well, that’s an off ramp that Shawn’s instincts have plastered a big fat sign over that says No Thank You. So Shawn makes no move to follow Gus into the house.

 _What’s the point_? A part of him asks, dejected and already preparing for a long walk alone like when he was a kid and missed the bus on days when Gus had chess club or whatever dorky thing he was into. _How many times can a guy hear his boyfriend declare that he is ashamed of their sex life?_

Shawn makes to slid behind the wheel—and then the bottom drops out from under that weight in his stomach.

No keys.

“Man!” Shawn whines into the silence of the car and he drops his forehead to the dashboard. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It’s stuffy in the car now, and Shawn has begun to perspire, his button down clinging uncomfortably, his jeans beginning to feel like an oven around his legs. He opens the car door and gets out thinking he’ll walk down to the beach.

His feet carry him up the steps, each footfall putting an image in his head, a reason why continuing the climb would be worth it. Gus’ lips. Gus’ pale brown nipples. Gus’ anchor-like attitude towards respecting the law. Gus’ heightened sense of smell solving actual murder cases. Gus’ freggin purple shirts. Gus’ nonplussed attitude towards Shawn constantly giving him a new first name because his given name is, essentially, _Burt_ and Shawn’s not Ernie so they could never make that work.

Gus. His.

It’s blissfully chilled inside the house. Shawn gratefully closes the door on the Santa Monica heat. Gus is at his kitchen table. He stands up. Shawn gets the feeling like he needs to run. He blurts, “You’re being a girl about this.”

“That’s sexist, Shawn,” Gus replies instantly but with a lot less heat than Shawn expected.

There’s a beat. Shawn shifts. “I told a girl she’s pretty, so what?”

“You took her number.”

“Doesn't mean I’m going to call it! I threw it away!”

“You read it first. I _know_ you remember it.”

Damn. Shawn abandons that approach, still unnerved by how calm Gus seems to be. It’s like in the five or so minutes that Shawn lingered in the car Gus was replaced by alien pod people.

“You know I’m not going to call her,” Shawn says softly down to his own shoes. It’s painfully embarrassing to admit it, but he would rather not give up having big chocolate boa constrictor arms around him as he falls asleep. In three months, he has come to rely on having that, if nothing else. He has already become acquainted with the way it can make him smile and feel good at the end of a shitty day. He’ll do almost anything to keep it.

And _that_ is a terrifying thought.

It makes him feel exposed and vulnerable to thousands of needle-like splinters being hurled from every direction.

Gus is suddenly in front of him, close enough to touch. Shawn had been so lost in thought he’d allowed himself to be snuck up on. Gus’ eyes search his, still eerily calm like he has already forgiven Shawn for being so callously enthusiastic about a pretty girl praising his genius. “Shawn,” he says, just as softly, “No matter what happens when you come Out, I’ll be here.”

Shawn turns away, filled with energy to do something else—clean or jump on the elliptical machine or solve a homicide. Anything else. “Man, don’t. It’s working the way it is. Just stop taking everything I do so personally and we’ll be fine!”

“ _Is_ it working the way it is, Shawn?” Gus challenges coolly.

“Yeah, it’s…” With a jolt, Shawn suddenly can’t find the courage to turn back to face him at the realization of his worst fear: that the best he can do isn't good enough, and his voice goes even quieter, “we’re good together.”

“The best I’ve had,” Gus replies and he’s so near Shawn need only lean back a little and he’d be in Gus’ arms. The temptation is overwhelming and Shawn wants to go on that walk to the beach now. Only he’ll make it a run. Just a full out, no time to stretch first, bolt for the big blue.

“Then why are you making it complicated?” Shawn demands with a hint of bitterness. If only Gus would man up and have the balls to watch his boyfriend put on an act when the need arises, then they could be naked and half way to orgasm by now. “Why can’t you just accept that I’m not ready for this?”

:::

It’d been a close one.

They’d been doing some leg work on a low key investigation for a quick case—one of those, prove-my-husband-is-cheating things that doesn't even require psychic ability—when they had bumped into Lassie and Juliet in a cafe where the cops were investigating the sudden death of the husband’s brother. Shawn’s eyes had lingered on a waitress, his face breaking into that great big pleased smile, eyes dipping down when she wasn't looking to memorize her rack. Gus had nearly Outed Shawn Spencer right then and there. He had nearly caused a very dramatic public scene casting himself as the disgruntled lover.

Even though it was tempting to just go ahead and take control to get it over with already, push Shawn into the figurative deep end to teach him how to swim… Gus knew he couldn't do it, even though Shawn would no doubt handle it a lot better knowing he had an audience. Being the natural ham for the spotlight that he is, he’d likely just roll with it. Make people laugh about it. Own it. But for all that would gain them, there would be something lost.

Gus would break Shawn’s trust doing something like that.

So he had just stood there and watched Shawn flirt, listened to Shawn’s witty banter, his seductive humor. He’d watched her scribble her number, watched him beam as he took the paper and memorized it with one sweep of those green eyes. Gus had felt as if he was nothing more than... than one more person to witness it as Shawn Spencer proved he was well and over Juliet.

Shawn’s nonchalance, his capacity for switching his emotions on and off…

It was like nothing ever happened between them.

Like Gus hadn't spent every night for the past three months doing his best to please, and comfort, and humor, and relax, and amaze and _adore_ Shawn like no one else.

To avoid a scene, he had kept a lid on it as much as he could on the way home. Now he plans, having entered the house and waited a full five minutes (long enough to realize his rage is only going to frighten Shawn off even more than his own insecurities already have) to be calm and patient but unrelenting in his pursuit for acknowledgement.

It is time for Shawn to own up to this relationship in its entirety. It’s not like it will come as too much of a shock for everyone who knows them.

It’s not like Mr. Spencer doesn't already _see_ it and, in Gus’ recent experience of his own Outing, none of it is as hard as telling your father. The worst of Shawn’s battle to come is already won. Mr. Spencer had, just the other day, smirked at Gus and given him a meaningful wink when Shawn’s back was turned. So Gus is prepared to fight this battle until he wins.

But this—why can’t you accept that I’m not ready for this?—stops him up like a cork in a bottle neck.

It occurs to Gus, not for the first time, that his boyfriend is obviously taught to be afraid from a lifetime of watching good things fail. His parent’s marriage. Abby. Juliet. But this time with the insight comes a new idea. What if, just this once, pushing Shawn to face something he’s been avoiding hurts him, hurts _them_?

Life doesn't play out neatly into little parts of growth and love and connection. In the real world, people aren't one good fuck away from enlightenment and confidence and happily ever after. Things don’t play out smoothly, they’re messy and uncomfortable and when people care about each other, they can only do the best they can.

Judging by the half desperate look in Shawn’s eye, he already _is_ doing the best he can. It’s not homophobia or a fear of commitment. It’s just the human condition with factors both seen and unseen, with more than just pride on the line. His life is upside down and inside out. He’s been hit with a lot of new stuff very recently, and unlike Gus—who met with most of these firsts with men he didn't really care about—Shawn is dealing with all of that on top of falling for his best friend.

Maybe Shawn needs to be given the lead on this.

Gus huffs in disbelief.

:::

Shawn can’t stand the silence, the way Gus is just looking at him. He sniffs self-consciously and moves past Gus to take a seat at the table. He needs to say something, he needs to say more, but he can’t think of any words that would make a difference. He closes his eyes, elbows on the table, face in his hands. The only thing there is left, the only thing that Shawn can think to say, is please.

 _Please_.

Is it a plea for all this pain and confusion to be over? Or is it a plea for the greatest thing of his life to never ever stop no matter if it kills him?

 _Please_.

Desperation, sheer desperation is the only thing keeping Shawn Spenser afloat. Then Gus huffs into the silence a moment later, and he’s turning another dinner chair to face Shawn’s, sitting right in front of him. “Okay.” Gus says. And that’s it. Shawn looks up. Gus has that look, the one that proves their thirty years of friendship.

Shawn can suddenly breathe. “Okay?”

“I get it,” Gus says softly. And he does, Shawn can see that. He can see that Gus knows without being told, knows the fear that eats at Shawn: that he’ll fail at this and lose the one thing in life that can never ever be replaced. A choking breath of relief comes up just then, bursting straight through the center of that plea in Shawn’s chest, which turns out to be a plea not for an end or for a promise of forever, but a plea for simple understanding.

Gus takes Shawn’s hand, and that relentless plea inside of Shawn ceases, a knot loosens in his stomach even as his pale fingers knot with darker ones. For now, Shawn feels like he can’t possibly lose Gus, it will be like losing the ground; the world will have to literally flip upside down, and being a sphere suspended in the void of space, such a thing is a literal impossibility.

Their lips touch when Gus leans forward, and Gus’ hand in on the back of Shawn’s head, and Shawn just leans into it, leans into the trust he nearly lost. Thirty-years strong, and that trust was nearly broken, it would have taken just a few words from Gus, a stubborn insistence on acknowledgment, and it would have all been over, the castle of cards falling down silently but with so much time and effort totally wasted.

Within the half hour they are on the couch, dressed but snuggling close with popcorn and the latest telenovela Shawn is into, but they aren't watching it, they are kissing slow and easy with no end game in mind, just enjoying each other.

“Shawn,” Gus pulls away to whisper, fingers against his cheek.

“Hm?”

“I don’t need it to happen now, but someday you _will_ have to own up to us with everyone.” His eyes are serious, his voice soft but resolved. “Can you give me that?”

“I’ll start trying now,” Shawn promises at once, he has already been telling himself as much, because for as much as he is grateful that Gus truly does seem to understand, he also senses that just because he understands doesn't mean he isn't disappointed. “I don’t know how, but I’ll figure something out. I’ll--I’ll do anything for you, man.” His throat closes.

It scares the living hell out of him how much he literally means that.

But he does, because at his words, Gus’ eyes brim with tears and his breath out holds this shudder in it, like Gus is the one that is relieved, like Gus is the one depending on Shawn, like Gus is the one terrified of screwing this up. Ever since they got so serious Shawn has felt like the emotional one, the one about to cry--or the one actually crying--while Gus remains so cool and in control. But one honest, painfully honest, confession and Gus is the one shaking with water in his eyes.

Shawn says it again, just because if Gus needs something, Shawn is going to give it to him to the best of his abilities, “Anything.”


End file.
